Forever's Not Enough (Galactic League of Planets) (18 page)

Then, on the twentieth day, comfortable in the certainty of his routine, everything changed.

* * * *

The first hint of change came across his guard’s D when the United News Service broke the story. A scandal like none ever seen before in the history of the Corporation. A Machiavellian plot that would have left even Machiavelli blushing.

The facts were sketchy, as was often the case when the tip of the iceberg popped into view, and an audit was underway of all internal documents and communications for the last ten years sent by the Corporation’s Chairman and its board members.

Tales of corruption and lavish living at the expense of the Corporation’s people, wild sex parties and Rangdon spice, deceit and injustice abounded.

One thing was certain—nine of ten member planets of the Galactic Union of Trade and Investigation had voted to deny membership to its most powerful member and founding state—the United Corporation of Earth.

A quiet rebellion headed by the united front of the Meline and Zandill people was sweeping the galaxy that called for non-compliance of all Corporation contracts.

Hill sat on his bunk and smiled, and later that night when his dreams finally came, he enjoyed telling Peenzan what was happening.

* * * *

“Well, don’t you look like shit!”

Hill looked up to find the Premier of Zandill standing in full regalia smiling down at him, Peenzan’s aunt on his arm.

The gentle sound of her soft purr made him want to cry. Instead he jumped to his feet and found a smile.

“Damn,” he shot back, finding a strange joy at having a visitor, any visitor. “Look what the cat drug in.”

Stepping to the bars, he reached through and shook Zad’s hand. Then, when the man raised his left hand and hit his chest, Hill mirrored the traditional Zandill greeting and managed a smile.

“So, what brings you to a Corporation stronghold? I hear you and everyone else in the galaxy are fighting the bastards.”

Zad chuckled. “Ah, the galaxy is changing, son, and I’m here to make sure all the work done by some very brave people does not go to waste. We must never forget.”

Hill was glad. Glad that the deaths of so many, including Radd and Lucy, but most of all his Peenzan, was not in vain. And he glanced at Peenzan’s aunt and said so. “She was very brave and I’m glad it all served a purpose.”

“Zanctu!” The Zandill equivalent of bullshit sounded more like a sneeze than a curse when Zad barked it out. “You’re not glad about any of this! And I don’t blame you!”

Before Hill could say anything else, Zad had turned and was barking orders at the guard. When the door of his cell swung open, he stood and stared in disbelief.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You can’t be a king from inside a jail cell!”

* * * *

The sun’s caress was warm and dried the chiming water that clung to his skin quickly. When Pran stepped up and offered him a robe, he smiled and asked, “Now what?”

He wasn’t overjoyed, but had found a kind of happiness on Meline, living in the castle, sleeping in her bed, and walking among her people.

The changes had been swift and cut a wide swath through the galaxy. By, in a sense, a hostile takeover, the corporation had been disbanded. All off-planet corporation assets had been given to the Meline and Zandill people by way of compensation, who in turn, had immediately returned all of it to the people of earth. But there were a few conditions.

One had been his immediate release and exoneration of all charges of crimes and treason against the people of earth, and another had been the creation of a steering committee made up of one representative from each known populous planet in the galaxy that would oversee the creation of a new democracy and the assignment of new leadership on earth.

“You must come with me,” Pran replied.

As she started off through the yellow grass of Meline, her back-fall swishing around her ankles, he imagined, if only for a moment, that Peenzan was showing him the way.

Peenzan’s aunt had explained that no matter what happened to Peenzan, he was still her Bast chosen mate, and as such, was now part of Meline royalty and would someday become King.

He didn’t know if he would go through with it, but it made the queen and king smile when he’d accepted the title of Prince of Meline, and he knew Peenzan would be happy, too.

When they crested a small hill behind the castle and stepped into a meadow of flowers of every color imaginable, he stared in awe.

“Now you pick.”

Her English wasn’t perfect and he still had trouble understanding her at times.

“What? All of them?”

Pran looked impatient, planted her hands on her hips, and said, “No, you silly human. Pick some. Just … how you say,
antran
?”

When he stared, his lack of comprehension obvious, she spoke to him like she would a child. “Pick just flower that remind you of her.”

They were beautiful and he couldn’t understand why he needed to kill them by picking them. “But why?”

Now Pran looked thoroughly pissed, “Is custom. Meline custom. Our people do this. You Meline Prince now. You do this.”

The sun was bright and a soft breeze brought the fragrance to him. He could think of no better way of discovering Meline than picking flowers for Peenzan.

Walking along the edge, he was struck by a royal blue blossom with three petals and bright red pistols standing proudly in the middle, and picked it.

A little further along the edge of the meadow he found a jade green blossom with eight willowy pedals that drooped long and low. A small pink button in the middle shined like lacquer.

“No!”

He looked back and saw Pran waving. Holding the flower up he yelled, “But I’ve already picked it!”

Pran rolled her eyes and said, “Okay. Okay. Is good. But you go middle. No just flowers outside. Look at all flowers. Every one.”

Every flower?
He looked across the meadow and decided there must be more than five thousand, no, ten thousand flowers growing in the small plot. How could he look at all of them?

When he looked back at Pran, he saw that refusal was not an option. Taking a first step into the field, he started searching the face of every flower.

First one, then another, joined his first selections. Then he saw another ten feet away that seemed to call to him. In thirty minutes, he could no longer carry his bundle of flowers and walked to where Pran was ever vigilant, dropped his selections at her feet, and noticed a faint smile of approval.

Four hours later, the meadow completely destroyed from his wanderings and stompings, he had a bundle of flowers the size of Pran stacked beside her.

When he stopped and wiped his brow, looking across the sad state of the meadow, Pran asked, “You done now, human?”

He could see nothing noteworthy still standing. He had no idea what the custom was about, but he had to admit it had become fun.

“I guess so.” And he shrugged. Hell, he didn’t know.

Pran turned and started off. “Come. Bring flowers.”

Bring flowers? How was he going to carry all these flowers? In a moment of inspiration, he pulled his robe off and threw it on the ground. Scooping up flowers, he dropped them on his robe, and when they’d all been moved, he pulled the robe together, and naked, picked up the bundle and prepared to walk back to the castle.

And there it was. A very small six petaled flower, white with a bright golden center that looked like molten gold. Stooping, he grabbed the small flower, brought it to his nose, smiled, and stuck it behind his ear. Whistling, he set off for the castle.

When he crested the small hill, he saw Pran standing halfway to the castle, obviously upset with his dalliance. He just smiled because he knew that would piss her off more and kept walking.

Finally, standing in the middle of Peenzan’s bedroom, he dropped the bundle and wiped his brow.

Pran rolled her eyes and pointed at the black stone extrusion they called a birthing table. “Bast no have patience with silly humans. You put flowers there. Not on floor.”

He didn’t care. He knew that most of Pran’s disfavor was show and he enjoyed getting her ire up.

The temptation was too great. He knew what she’d say before he’d said it. “You know, I’m sweaty and tired. I think I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“No! You do now! Tonight night. Do now!”

Hiding his smile, he feigned defensive anger and said, “Okay! Okay! I’ll do it!”

He almost laughed when she walked back and forth with each and every bundle of flowers until the birthing table was stacked high with color and fragrance. Stepping back he stared in wonder at his small offering.

“Now…” and Pran stopped mid sentence, walked up and inspected his head. With a cluck of disapproval, she plucked the small white flower from behind his ear and put it in his palm.

“I tell you
all
flowers. Now put.” And she pointed.

One more sniff of its luscious fragrance, and with the utmost care, he ceremoniously placed the last flower at the very top of his collection. Stepping back, he brushed his hands and smiled and said, “There.
All
the flowers.”

Pran walked around and carefully inspected the colorful stack. Pushing here and prodding there, she finally stepped back and said, “Good. Now you bath. You stink like human.”

* * * *

Pran had made sure he’d gotten into the chiming pool and left mumbling something in Meline.

He floated and splashed and thought of Peenzan with each soft chime the amber liquid made. Looking at the low stone bench beside the pool, he recalled that night that now seemed like years ago when she’d explained about love as the Meline saw it.

“You see, that’s where your species has made a mistake. They’ve brought judgment and logic into something that has nothing to do with either. You humans plot and think and wonder why. You try to make love a question, when in fact, there is no question in love. There is only feeling. Love is a matter of heart, not a question of the mind.

Yes, he decided, stepping out of the pool. Only heart.
And I have you here
, and his hand came up and touched lightly between his breasts.

And no, you don’t have to know why the sky is blue to enjoy it. He smiled.

“Now eat. You need much strength.”

Pran swept into the room with a tray piled high with food. He entertained the idea of refusing just to hear her curse him, but instead sat obediently at Peenzan’s desk and let Pran watch over him while he ate every scrap of food she served up.

Pushing back from the desk he rubbed his bare stomach and said with a hint of rebellious mockery, “Food good. More. I want more.”

Pran looked from the empty tray to his slightly swollen belly before she realized he was teasing her. “You see! Silly human. Bast no like fun today. Bast may not listen you.”

No, he guessed not. He was, in fact, only human.

The light through the high window was turning a dark azure color and he knew the sun was fading. Another night with his dreams, or more importantly, another night with her, his Peenzan.

When he started toward the bed, Pran stepped in front of him and shoved on his chest, “You not ready. Go. Light candle.”

It had all been fun, a day of sun and color and fragrance that, not the same as having the enchanting fragrance of his Peenzan floating around, was pleasant enough by itself, but he was tired and no longer in the mood. He thought of refusing, but when she pushed again, he decided it would be easier to just do what she wanted.

What candle? He guessed she could read minds now because Pran took his hand and led him back to the birthing table. Digging behind his stack of flowers, she pulled out a candle and set it on the floor in front of the stone slab.

“There, you light.”

Finding a flint and striking stone beside the candle, he kneeled and worked until the flame caught and glowed warmly.

When he stood, Pran picked the candle up and set it on the edge of the birthing table beside the depression that was the head.

“Now.” Pran sounded like she was as much out of patience as he was. “You kneel here and talk Bast. Say thing you want most in all universe. Then you go sleep.”

This time there was no thought of antagonizing Pran. Obediently, reverently, he knelt on the cold stone floor and said his prayer to a god he didn’t know on a world he was just learning in a haze of tears he didn’t deny.

Chapter Eight

Once he’d returned to Meline, his dreams of her had become more vivid. At times she’d stand beside the bed, others she’d walk to the chiming pool where she’d sit on the low stone bench and talk to him while he bathed.

Sometimes she’d sit on the edge of the bed, just out of reach.

And they’d always talk. It was funny that given the short time they’d had together, they could find so many things to talk about.

She explained more about love, about the Meline way, about how selfishness was impossible between Meline mates, and that, hard as it might be to understand, that could be a problem when both wanted to give and no one wanted to take.

She told him about Bast, about herself as a child, and asked him about his own childhood.

It didn’t matter what they talked about, it was about the talking, about her finding him in his dreams.

Tonight he closed his eyes to the soft fragrance of flowers and the spicy smell of the candle he’d lit, and was disappointed when she wasn’t there immediately. He wanted to know about their customs, about the flowers and the candle, about why she was so real to him in his dreams.

His mind finally settled, and with a feeling of disappointment he fell into the abyss of a black dreamless sleep, letting Meline and the rest of the galaxy slip away.

* * * *

“I am here, my love.”

“Yes,” he smiled, “At last.”

Her skin glowed in the light of the single candle that burned on the birthing table, her platinum hair a shimmer, her back-fall swishing as she stepped onto the bed and kneeled beside him, “I’m sorry you had to wait, but these things take time.”

His hand came up as it often did and he reached to touch her cheek. He smiled when she didn’t shy away as she always had before and enjoyed the warm feel of her skin on his fingertips. Then he heard her soft purr and his smile deepened.